Inside the Telescope
by guide-to-the-galaxy
Summary: Leo cannot escape the future, like he cannot escape this pain and all that he has lost. But, despite it all, Leonardo still believes in the world.


_(a/n) for flashfic theme: old friends, new futures. this future is sainw set in the 2012 and IDW universe. Enjoy the pain the population of tumblr and their heartless selves requested!_

 _._

* * *

.

The world is a cluster of disastrous _things._ Disastrous things that rip apart and _kill._

His skin rips where rocks cut into, and the wind carries and stirs and sways, dragging up dust and dirt and sand, tearing into fabric of his skin, scratching his throat raw. If he keeps walking he can die, if he stops and decides to lay out of the cracked dirt, sink into the earth- he'd die anyway. And there are dead flowers in the sand, grey in his eyes. They break apart and disappear under his feet. And then he finds a tree, feels the leaves brush his face.

.

* * *

.

He grips the sink. Fingers scratching against the cracked marble, slipping under the water. The bathroom is silent, the water drips from the faucet and his hands move through the water so that he can breathe and shutdown and reset all over again. The air is thin and it is darker than it was before, the tiles broken and dyed something deep and red, like a canvas of every decayed thing, like a mosaic of collections of failures that he walks over to remember- written and etched and burned into the track work of his memory.

He does not know the light that flickers above the sink, but the low humming reverberates softly through his bones and so he grips the sink tighter and tries to flush the feeling. Swallow it. Swallow it , let it go. Forget.

The water is cloudy- water from the pipes, water from the eyes.

(Emotion.

Emotion is funny. Funny emotions are when misconstrued and _ugly;_ and his are so, so ugly. His heart sits heavy with them and frozen and stabbed so when he breathes he wishes he didn't. He wishes too many things. Wishes so much.)

At night Leo wishes life was like behind the static television screen- because in _there-_ oh, god, _everything was perfect._

And so this pitiful emotion eases out through his teeth like blood, filling his chest and winding it tight- a poison.

But he was still so _young;_ young and unbelievably hopeful at heart, entitled, crazy, out of mind with wondrous things and impossible things like fairness and love, _goodness._

Because, despite _everything,_ Leonardo believed the world had to be _good_ to them, somehow. The world- the universe and life- they were just the experience of it all. And so why wouldn't that be _good?_

Leonardo laughs at the heart of him, that's still fighting on with triumph and a magnificent fearlessness, carrying that token around with some kind of pride, infinite and undying.

So he laughs with a sweet longing for his brave heart, and picks his head up a little, because he's still got something to fight for, and, in the mirror, he is nothing, masked by silk and blurred plumes of filmy clouds.

Cupping the water, Leo picks his hands up, the water evaporating, falling to the tiled floor when his hands shake.

He splashes it over his eyes, sinking to the floor.

.

* * *

 _._

 _He dreams of fighting and a battle he would win. He is marvelous and his blades are beautiful, and he is set on fire with the conviction of a warrior._

 _A fascinating dance._

 _Surreal._

 _The ninja fall at his feet and he is alive. He sees the reflection if their faces in his smooth edge of his blades._

 _He is beside his brothers._

 _Invincible. Deadly. Sharp. Invisible._

 _._

* * *

.

After he loses faith in the universe, he loses his faith in his father and the healing scrolls and mantras. He couldn't read the scrolls, so he put them in his heart. His mantras were sloppy and his hands shook, and he could not see.

So Leonardo tears them up in front of his father, before him at his throne.

"I…trusted- I trusted….trusted you. It was supposed to- it's supposed to fix me. _This,"_ he says, looking past his father, eyes milky, dull and pooling and he rips the pages and wants to see if he's made his _Sensei_ horrified- if he can make him see. Because he is on his throne, and his has put everything below the honor of a clan and an ideology of strength. This is not _strength;_ he will watch him go blind, wait until Leo is worthless.

"You said…you _promised_ it would…it would."

And through the veil of his weakness, Leo knows his father will not look at him- at his disgrace at his mistakes. In the same way he won't look at his brothers.

 _"_ _Look_ at me!" he screams, stumbling forward up the stairs to reach his father (his father- he is his son. not a wounded soldier. he's a chess piece. he's a mistake. he's _imperfect)_ and all his anger and all this hurt erupts as he tears into more scrolls, "You said they would _work! Look at me- you said they would work!"_

A breeze rustles past his skin, and he feels the fabric of his _Sensei's_ robe- the one he's spent memorizing, like the old, familiar feel of his brothers' breaths and every freckle and divot and marking in their skin. But that was fading.

The doors open wide, the sounds from the corridor flood the room before dulling, and the doors shut quietly.

.

* * *

 _._

 _Leo had him beat, he knew when Raph took a faulty step on his left foot. It took of self control to not correct, because his posture could have improved. But they were helping him out here, to find his balance, to fight blind._

 _Because maybe they were working out something deeper than perfected kata could rework. And it was_ flowing _\- their energy- it was barreling out unfocused and misdirected._

 _"_ _Breathe." Mikey calls out over and Leo nods, sliding back from a kick to his side._

 _And so he stops and_ breathes, _shaky and undone. When he is flooding back with control, he swings a punch and nails it._

 _Leo hears the mats scrape the floor, hears Raph stagger back, and Leo stares at his fist like he's horrified._

 _But Raphael laughs, throwing his head back; it catches Leonardo and he laughs too, raw and hurting._

 _._

* * *

.

He needs to concentrate. Concentrate on the lake. His senses drink from the tranquility and everything else that is dark comes alive with light.

He is by a tree and a lake and the glow is a soft pink and of gold.

The unreality breathes him in and whispers hopeful things gently into his ears, through the flowers and the leaves. The spring air was lovely and fresh and the distant sounds of children playing with kites in a field made him chuckle to himself and he remembers.

He remembers his brothers.

A woman is under the tree, petals in her hair.

She turns and smiles, stretches out her hand.

 _Kitsune._

Her eyes shine and her fingers drag across his face, lifting his head; all he sees is her light.

 _"_ _Oh."_ her voice is heavy and even, but her eyes are troubled and round, _"Oh…my Chunin. You are so…broken…this is the future you chose…when… you left me. Why?"_

His mouth is filled with honey and she smiles sweetly down at him.

 _"_ _But I…can change that. I can fix you."_

Her hand is here, right beside his.

So he takes it.

Her smile curls and the trees and the lake collapse.

In another universe his brothers are with him and Leonardo _sees the world._ And he sees all of it from atop a skyscraper. The city is brilliant and everything shines neon and gold and a spectrum of colors that blend in his clearing vision. She is beside him, her hands behind her back, hidden in her sleeves to reveal this grand presentation she put all together. Just for him.

The highways are as high as the buildings and ships hover over the roads, above others.

And Leo feels the wind through his coat and closes his eyes, takes it in.

And falls.

The world spins and spins and _spins_ and he's _falling so fast._

And when it rights itself- the universe, his life, the stars, _everything,_ and his future is set-

-Leonardo is in the forest with his enemy.

.

* * *

.

(In the span of the universe, there are a million- no a _billion_ \- unknown possibilities and futures and it all floats in the _balance_ like the suspended paper airplanes they made as kids. They made planes and hung them under stars glowing neon, staring up with wide eyes that wondered _so many things._

In the forest, with Saki and the Pantheon, Leo, still a chess piece, still a puppet, wonders and wishes and dreams.

Because, despite _everything,_ Leonardo believed the world had to be _good.)_


End file.
